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"'Obsession?' / 'Is that not what they call it,' Hook said, 'when two men can think of nothing but each other?'"

I was very pleasantly surprised by this little book. It had a very "telling stories by the firelight" quality to it that made me feel relaxed and intrigued. This wasn't an overly complicated story and I do think there were areas for improvement, but overall the writing was good and I quite enjoyed my experience reading it. It was the perfect mix of nostalgia, trans rep, and joyful queer love that I didn't know I needed right now.

With this story, the author has taken the tale of a boy bent on never growing up and asks what would happen if he did---how can we reconcile our dreams with our realities?

"'Clothes, adventure, and a worthy opponent. [...] Who could ask for more?'"

(If you're not familiar with the tale of Peter Pan, I highly suggest brushing up on it before reading this!)

This book proves at least one thing: Virginia Woolf wasn't just a writer; she was an artist who worked with words. Beyond poetry and beyond prose, she plays with the subconscious. She forces readers to sink deeper - not just into the text, but into their own minds.

The stream-of-consciousness structure, which melds together six characters, can be challenging at first, but that's partly because it demands a different view of life where people are fleeting, not all-important. Behind the six characters, the underlying narrator feels like Time itself, looking at us.

In the expanse of Time, we're all brief sparks of existence, outlived by trees and silverware. We're preoccupied with our individual identities, little conflicts, and tight schedules that ultimately mean nothing in the scope of the universe. So how would Time write a novel? Like this, perhaps.

📱Ebook

"Where should we go after the last border? Where should birds fly after the last sky?"

Have you ever read a book that stripped you down to a mere concept of a body and rebuilt you cell by cell? Instead of blood, your heart pumps the words of another soul and your lungs breathe the air of music. Your skin is permanently chilled and your eyes see everything everywhere. The sun and the moon shine straight through you---not a shadow in sight---and the wind pulls at your soul until you're flying through trees and memories of dreams and another man's visions of yesterday's futures.

Can you tell this book altered me entirely?

I usually don't put much stock in poets being described as "rare" or "magnificent" because it feels like every poet I see these days is called that. But Mahmoud Darwish is truly a master of this art, if there ever was one. I have never felt so spiritually transported by poems in my life---I can't begin to imagine the beauty of these pieces in their original Arabic.

I don't know if I can describe these works better than the translators did in the introduction:

"His poetry is both the linguistic fruit of an internalized collective memory and an impassioned poetic response to his long absorption of regional and international poetic movements. As much as he is the voice of the Palestinian diaspora, he is the voice of the fragmented soul."

When I think of poetry, this kind of writing is what fills my mind. Language as a tool, as art, as connection, as resistance, as identity and homeland. Darwish's words are sunlight through stained glass; a breeze through a bird's feathers; the spray of salt in your face at the edge of the sea; they are a shape of human consciousness, a hook in the lip of the soul. His words are lyrical, reverent, immovable, unflinchingly resilient---the lack of hatred from someone in such a position to be so justifiably full of hate is astounding.

There was a lot of cultural and religious context here that I could not fully grasp, but the introduction and glossary helped with this. This is the kind of poetry that scholarly research should be dedicated to (it was shockingly difficult to find much helpful analysis---in English---on the internet). I will be finding a physical copy of this to analyse and further research the rich and layered details of these poems. My lack of knowledge did not detract from my appreciation of this collection, but making an effort to bridge this gap will certainly serve only to increase and deepen this appreciation. These are works that I will be returning to for the rest of my life.

Here are some more lines that stood out to me (I've made an effort to keep it to shorter quotes: I would've typed out every single poem if I could):

"What crime did I commit to make you destroy me? / I will never cease embracing you. // And I will never release you."

"Our journey to oblivion has been endlessly prolonged."

"You and I are one in words. / We belong to the same book. / The ashes upon you are mine, / and in the shadows we are / the only two witnesses, victims, / two short poems about nature / waiting for the devastation to finish its feast."

"Would that I had a different present, / I would hold the keys to my past. / And would that I had a past within me, / I would possess all tomorrows."

"[...] We---who are capable of remembrance---are capable of liberation."

"My body has become too small for me: so has eternity. / Like a crown of dust, my future is sitting there in my seat."

"---How many did you kill? / ---It's impossible to tell. I only got one medal."

"We cannot become an echo twice."